Singing For The Stars
by Fire Bear1
Summary: Arthur is singing for Eurovision this year and he's dragged his American boyfriend along for the ride. But Alfred doesn't seem to be that big on supporting him like Arthur thought...


**_Aloha. So, uh... In the week leading up to Eurovision, I thought: Huh, I should write a story. And America should totally be there somehow. Oh, wait! And I got a vague idea for it. Then I actually watched Eurovision, did my usual mocking with my friends, cheered whenever the UK got even a single point (uber surprised we even got one of the big three lot of points - and from Ireland, too!) - and I suddenly wanted to write this and stuff. But only just got it finished. So, here, read._**

* * *

"So, rehearsal's all done?" asked his boyfriend, grinning as his arm wrapped around the performer's waist.

"Yes," answered Arthur, smiling and laying his head on his shoulder. "I'm truly looking forward to the big night."

"I'm sure you'll be amazing, honey." Something caught his attention and he turned his head, prompting Arthur to look up.

"Alfred? What-? Ah," said Arthur as he spotted a Eurovision official handing out small flags. "Do you want one?"

"Hmm," agreed Alfred, smiling. "It would be fun to have one."

Arthur dragged his boyfriend over, returning his smile. He plucked a Union Flag from the pile sitting beside the official, acknowledging him with a nod. "Here you are, then. I expect to see you waving that when I get onstage."

"I can't take that!" cried Alfred, shaking his head and backing away from the proffered flag. "If I'm waving a flag, I want an American one."

With a roll of his eyes, Arthur shook his head at his stubbornness. "Don't be stupid. There's none here." Smiling at Alfred's silliness, Arthur held the flag a little higher. "So, here you are."

"Still don't want it."

"What?" asked Arthur, his hand lowering slightly, eyes wide as he realised that Alfred was being serious.

"C'mon – I don't wanna be waving a British flag. That just sends all the wrong impressions." Alfred grinned, cheekily.

"But... Didn't you want a flag?"

"Sure. An American one. But since there's none here..." Alfred trailed off, surveying the other flags. "Ha!" he exclaimed, grabbing one from the pile. "Maybe I'll wave this one," he said, frantically doing so with a French flag.

Growling, Arthur scowled at him and threw his flag back into the pile before storming off. Laughing, Alfred did the same and followed, catching his hand and swinging it as they exited the building.

* * *

He was about to go on. Of course, he had already been on, paraded across the stage to show Europe who would be singing. But, now, it was time to sing. His time to shine. To show what the UK had to offer.

However, the nerves were getting to Arthur as he stood in the wings, waiting for that bloody Francis to stop singing.

It didn't help that he was dwelling on what Alfred had said after the rehearsal. His refusal to fly the British flag shouldn't have come as a surprise to Arthur. But he had brought Alfred with him for support after patiently explaining the competition to the American.

His support was important to Arthur. After all, he had written the song specifically for his boyfriend and had wanted him there to watch him in this prestigious competition. The rejection of his flag, though, had made his spirits plummet and he wasn't sure he could stomach singing out there. He just wasn't in the mood and he would no doubt be a complete flop.

In fact, he was sweating slightly, a small bead slowly slipping down his cheek. He tried not to wipe at it – for the cameras, he had make-up on. Instead, he scratched at his head, ruffling his already messy hair – styled like that purposely, of course. Although, to be perfectly honest, his hair didn't tend to stay styled in any other way.

He shifted slightly, his tight trousers squeaking a little. Leather – why did it have to be leather? The small t-shirt revealed a thin strip of his skin, even with his arms lowered. Apparently, the UK was going for sexy rather than classy. Not that he minded, of course. It was just rather nerve-wracking to be dressed this like in front of the whole of Europe.

Finally, Francis finished and Arthur could hear the distant, thunderous applause. Now it was his turn. Once Francis had gotten off the stage and Arthur's props had been carried on and he was on stage and the clip of him in England had finished and the music started...

His breath caught in his throat and he tried to take a deep breath as the Frenchman was ushered past. It didn't work, however, and he inhaled with difficulty, beginning to get a mite panicky. If he couldn't breathe, he couldn't sing. Never mind that – he'd die. Out there, on the stage he was being guided onto, he'd die. In front of Alfred, too. He felt as though something was constricting his chest and tightening, ever so slowly.

Blinking, he realised he was in the middle of the stage, staring with large eyes at the massive crowd. They waved flags to amuse themselves as they waited for the music to start. Arthur still couldn't get a breath as lights were adjusted and cameras spun to face him.

He couldn't do this. He would embarrass his country. He would embarrass himself. He was utterly hopeless and he was definitely going to ruin the measly chances the UK had of winning...

At that point, however, still struggling to calm himself and _breathe_, his eyes landed on a gigantic Union Flag being waved with such enthusiasm it was almost hitting the German and Italian flags either side of it. The flag was bigger than the others in the crowd. To begin with, Arthur wondered who on Earth could be such a patriot to bring their own flag. Then he seemed to recognise the forceful joy in the flag-waving and his eyes darted downwards.

Alfred was straining his muscles, pulling the huge flag through the air, a grin on his face. On one cheek, he had a Union Jack painted. The other had a St. George's cross.

Staring, Arthur felt himself regain his breath as his heart swelled. He had often corrected Alfred that he was _English_ and not just British but the boy had never once seemed to care, often calling him 'British dude' when they had first met. For him to have had the English flag painted on his cheek...

Just as the intro to the song started, Arthur realised something. He didn't need to sing for himself or for his country. It was hardly likely he or the UK would win this year (yet again). Of course, he was proud of his song and considered it better than the others. Yet, it had been written for Alfred and sung for Alfred. There was no reason why the venue or the stakes should change that.

Here, in front of Europe, he would sing for his boyfriend once again.

So Arthur smiled at Alfred, opened his mouth and sang about the stars and blue eyes and golden hair...

* * *

When he finished, the applause was tremendous, louder than anything he had ever experienced before. His spirits buoyed at this and he searched for Alfred once more. Finding him, he grinned and, rather boldly for Arthur, blew him a kiss. The girls in the vicinity of Alfred squealed and jumped up and down in excitement as Arthur thanked the host city. Smirking, he winked at Alfred, received another squeal, and quickly left the stage to go to where Alfred had promised to meet him.

The green room was really just an area of the auditorium with tables. They were a little behind the crowd surrounding the stage. His manager and several assistants were gathered there. When he reached them, they shook hands or hugged him, telling him he had been amazing and they were sure to win. Arthur smiled politely back at them and glanced round for Alfred.

He caught sight of the enormous Union Flag bobbing as it hurried towards him, fluttering in the breeze caused by its movement. Then it was thrown to the side as Alfred reached him, grinning, his arms outstretched. Arthur laughed as Alfred swept him up, spun him round and placed him back on the floor. A kiss was pressed to his forehead – he had specifically told Alfred not to make too many displays of affection in public for the night – and Arthur gazed up at his lover fondly.

"Hi," he said as the Spanish singer finally finished setting himself up onstage.

"Hey!" exclaimed Alfred. "You were _amazing_ as always."

"All thanks to you, love," Arthur admitted, lifting a hand to lightly trace the flags drawn on his perfect skin.

"Of course," grinned Alfred. "But I'm totally sure you'll win."

Arthur snorted. "Of course. And pigs will fly overhead to announce it."

"Huh?"

Dragging Alfred into the seats, Arthur explained. "This thing is pretty much all political. Countries vote for neighbouring countries or ones they had alliances with in the past. Since the UK is, unfortunately, rather like the black sheep of Europe, we don't ever get many points – usually. I doubt we'd even be in the grand final if it wasn't for the fact that we contribute to this thing in the first place."

"Seriously?" cried Alfred. "But that- That's just wrong! And unfair!"

"That's the way the world works, my dear," said Arthur with a shrug, accepting a glass of water from his manager. "To be perfectly honest, I'll be happy if I beat that French git in points. He annoys the hell out of me."

"Oh, you'll definitely beat him," said Alfred, dismissively.

"How would you know?"

"'Cause I wasn't waving as big a flag for him," he said with a grin. He laughed as Arthur whacked him, scowling a little. But Arthur quickly dissolved into laughter, too far too happy to be able to remain annoyed. An arm wrapped around Arthur's shoulders and he leaned into him, able to relax for a brief moment in time.

* * *

"Oh, no," muttered Arthur about half an hour later as he spotted the host and accompanying camera approaching. He really didn't want to be interviewed. It was had always looked awfully embarrassing to him when he saw them do it on the telly.

"What?" asked Alfred, unaware, sipping on his Coke.

"Never mind," murmured the singer, sighing as the host swerved towards them.

"... and the UK participant has brought along a special someone for support, " the host was saying as she parked herself on an empty seat. She smiled up at Arthur as the cameras focussed on him. "Isn't that right?"

"Ah, yes," said Arthur, feeling his cheeks heating up. Hopefully they weren't too bright.

"Where is he? Does he want to say anything to Europe?"

"I... Well..." mumbled Arthur, unsure as to whether he should introduce Alfred.

Fortunately – or unfortunately; Arthur could never quite decide – Alfred peeked around Arthur's body. "They talkin' 'bout me?" he asked, deliberately thickening his American accent. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Hi!" Alfred waved at the camera.

"This, uh, is my boyfriend," explained Arthur to the host, refusing to look at the camera. "He's who the song is about. And he's American, so please forgive any foolish things he says."

"Hey!" protested Alfred, pouting a little.

"Oh? So you were singing to him, yes?" asked the host, her smile widening as she leaned forward with the mic. A strand of brown hair fell from her bun, the flower in her hair holding it back from her face somewhat. She looked extremely excited.

"I... Well, yes," admitted Arthur. Suddenly bolstered by a quick glance to Alfred, he added, "In fact, I was so nervous, I almost froze on the stage – until I found him in the crowd." A soft smile spread over his face and the host seemed to get more excited.

"Really?" asked Alfred beside him. He appeared to be surprised, though a loving smile had crept across his visage.

"Yes," replied Arthur, nodding. With a quick glance at the cameras, he took Alfred's hand and gave it a quick, soft kiss. "Thank you," he whispered to him.

"Aw, is that not lovely?" said the host, standing and sweeping away. "Let us leave them to each other. Now, let's see. Who else...?"

Thankful that she had wandered off, Arthur turned back to Alfred who was now beaming with pleasure. "I-I hoped I could help you," he told Arthur.

The UK participant smiled wider than before and pecked his boyfriend's cheek. "Always."

* * *

"Aw, c'mon! You were way better than them!" cried Alfred, loudly.

"Hush!" hissed Arthur, hastily, glancing around to make sure no-one had heard over the noise. "I _told_ you, I'm not going to get many points. Just... Look, you're being rude to the other participants – don't shout about it."

"But, honey!" whined Alfred. "I really wanted you to win."

The fond smile Arthur turned on him, though, spoke volumes. "I really don't care about it. This means there are no cameras being shoved in my face. And it means that I get to be with you."

A fond smile of his own spread across Alfred's face. "Sorry. I just really wanted you to have your moment to shine."

"I did," replied Arthur. "All thanks to you."

A cheer went up as one of the countries won, the points too far beyond what anyone else could reach. Arthur wasn't paying attention, though, and did not see who won. He only had eyes for Alfred as the American said, just over the noise, "I love you."

"And I you," said Arthur before pulling him into a passionate kiss, unnoticed by everyone bar his manager.

* * *

_**Did you see that Harry Potter reference? I'm not sure how it got there...**_

_**Anyways... The host may or may not have been Elizaveta. The Spanish singer may or may not have been Antonio. The manager was faceless until the end when Kiku popped up in my mind so he may or may not have been the Japanese awesomeness that is he.  
**_

_**A lot of people in the UK always say that the Eurovision is political. Mainly because the Nordics always vote for each other as do the Baltics, etc. And the UK get nothing, usually. (That might be because we keep putting out crappy ballads from established singers which are forgotten about almost instantly - I can't remember the last few songs. This year's was actually pretty good, considering.) But, yeah, no-one in the UK ever expects to get any points. If we ever do get a lot of points/win, I'm getting together a zombie survival pack because it's clearly the end of the world.**_

_**Francis only got a couple of points in this story so Arthur had his victory - because I found it utterly hilarious that they didn't get points this year. (Even though, to be honest, I thought it was a fun song. Despite not having a clue what they were saying.) I just had Hetalia in my head, with Artie laughing in Francis' face.**_

_**I'm sorry I never wrote out the song - that would be murder and awful.**_

_**That ending is crap - I'm sorry but I only had a few scenes in mind and them kissing as the winner goes up to the stage was the end of my scenario.**_

_**Oh. Arthur is an established singer/song-writer. I have no idea how he met Alfred. Either he was a fan or Arthur's popularity was waning and Alfred invited him to be the singer for his failing band. Or something. **_

_**This is as close to a punk!Iggy story as I've gotten and recently I found myself wanting to write one about that sort of Arthur. Meh. Maybe later.**_

_**I have the feeling I was going to say something else imp- Oh, yeah. This is not set in any particular year or city. Which is why Elizaveta may not be the host. I didn't want it to be this year because I felt that's a little... awful? Is that the word? Well, awful to brush the actual participants under the table as if they didn't exist. So maybe this is in the future. Maybe in an alternate universe where I actually am the personification of the UK and Arthur is just a citizen. ... Mwahaha. *ahem***_

_**The title: The song is about singing to the stars. But it's actually about singing to Alfred and about Alfred. Just, y'know, all that imagery crap I never quite get the hang of in songs. (Recently, I have been realising that a few songs have been about rather adult things - which I am pretty sure I sang along to as a kid. =/ )**_

_**Oh, yeah... Also, I don't pay attention to the Eurovision beyond the grand final. So I don't know about the rehearsals or what day the UK participants turn up and whatever. Sorry about that.**_

_**This is a really awful story compared to my usual stuff. Sorry 'bout that but, eh, tough. Any questions, let me know.**_


End file.
